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we can do that Ramirez and his crime scene buddies can't."
    Dana put her hands on her hips. "Really? Tell me, exactly what did Ramirez say when you told him you were going cake tasting today?"
    I felt my cheeks go hot. "He turned on a basketball game."
    "Of course he did, because all men hate weddings."
    Marc opened his mouth to protest.
    "Present company excluded, of course."
    He shut it, giving her a nod.
    "My point is," she continued, "Ramirez doesn't know the first thing about weddings or wedding planning. He wouldn't even know where to begin looking for Gigi's killer. Maddie, we totally have the advantage over him."
    I looked from Marco's beaming face to Dana's smug smile.
    Oh boy.
    For a brief moment, I almost felt sorry for Gigi's killer. The poor man had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

Chapter Four
     
    Once our toes were passion pink and ruby rendezvous, respectively, Dana and I settled down on the poodle skirt sofas in the front of the salon while Marco skated back and forth in front of us with a pad of lined yellow paper, outlining our strategy.
    "So, where do we start?" Dana asked.
    "With centerpieces! We must have floral centerpieces at each reception table. Roses? Carnations?" Marco asked, pen poised.
    "Actually, I meant where do we start looking for Gigi's killer?" Dana pointed out.
    Marco stuck his lower lip out in a pout. "Oh."
    "Roses," I said.
    Marco perked up immediately, making a note on his pad.
    "What about the husband?" Dana asked.
    "Ramirez?" Marco cocked his head to the side. "You think he'd rather have carnations?"
    Dana rolled her eyes. "No, Gigi's husband. The husband is always the first suspect on Law & Order ."
    "You do know that's a fictional show, right?" I pointed out.
    "She might be right, though," Marco added. "I'd look at the husband first. Marriage drives people crazy. I mean, you spend that much time with someone, odds are you're gonna want to kill them at some point."
    Dana shot a wary glance at me, then stuck a foot out and kicked Marco in the shin as he skated past.
    "Ow!" He looked at me. "Oh." Marco's face went red. "Oh, right, well, I totally didn't mean your marriage, Maddie."
    "Uh huh. Sure. Thanks."
    "Back to Gigi," Dana said, clearing her throat loudly. "Do we know if she was married?"
    I shrugged. I had to admit, I didn't know much about Gigi except that she didn't understand the word 'understated.'
    "Leave it to me, dahlings," Marco said, skating around his desk to the slim, black computer behind it. He pulled up a Google screen and typed in the name "Gigi Van Doren."
    As Marco scrolled through pages of hits, we learned that Gigi was on the alumni committee at UCLA, had signed an online petition to save the polar bears, and had an aunt named Eloise who'd recently died of lung cancer in Poughkeepsie. Finally we hit jackpot as Marco pulled up the online presence of the L.A. Informer .
    An article about Gigi Van Doren separating from her husband of two years hit the front page last July, the reporter cruelly pointing out the irony of Beverly Hills' hottest wedding planner not being able to keep a marriage together herself.
    "So much for the husband theory," Marco said.
    "Well, an ex-husband is even better than a husband. Alimony is a great reason to want someone dead," Dana pointed out.
    "Does it list his name?" I asked.
    Marco scrolled down. "Seth Summerville. Says he's a real estate developer." He opened a new window, bringing up a yellow pages site, then typed the name into the search engine. A page of Summervilles popped up, ranging from dry cleaners to attorneys. Marco scrolled until he hit on "Summerville Development" in downtown L.A. He clicked the link, printing the address out on a giant printer hidden under a Styrofoam jukebox.
    "Perfect, let's go pay the ex Mr. Gigi Van Doren a visit," Dana said, clapping her hands. And molting a few more feathers.
    "Uh, maybe you'd like to change first there, Daisy Duck?"
    Dana looked down. "Oh. Right. K, we'll stop by my